Death in the Pines Read Online Free PDF Page A

the rubbing alcohol and a washcloth and finally decided not to bother with a bandage. “Heals better in the dry air anyhow,” he said. “And I’m too old and ugly to worry about that little missing chunk.”
    He looked out the north side window, then the south side window behind him, then the east facing windows on the front of the cabin. I doubted he could see anything. Deep darkness had settled in. “Only one way out of this place? Don’t seem safe.”
    â€œYou mean if they’re still shooting at us?”
    He tapped the beam he stood next to. “Or if they set fire to the place. Whatever.”
    â€œThere’s a hinged panel in the back wall,” I said, pointing to the wall next to my woodpile. “Hinges on the top, an eyehook on the bottom.”
    â€œFor putting in wood,” he said, catching on at once.
    â€œYes, but it’s big enough to crawl through in a pinch. Meet your approval?”
    He shook his head as if at the sorry state of my lodgings, walked over to the straight-backed rocking chair, paused with his hand resting on the hard maple, heaved a deep breath, and said, “You got anything stronger than wine?” He touched the lower part of his ruined earlobe. “Anesthetic,” he explained.
    â€œSome vodka in that cabinet under the window,” I said. “Should be about full.”
    He snorted, as if vodka were an absurd idea, and sat down, picking up from the floor his juice glass, still about half-full. He polished off the claret with one swallow. “You ready to believe me now? You ready to work for me?”
    â€œDo you know of any Native Americans living around here?” I countered.
    He didn’t respond for a minute, but poured himself another glass of wine while he mulled that over. “A few. Why?”
    â€œJust curious. How about a woman in her twenties or thirties named Sylvia?”
    He shook his head. “I don’t know anyone of that name. They’s a few Abenaki around. Also some up north, and in Quebec, and in New York. A few in the Northeast Kingdom, maybe a few scattered round about in Maine.”
    â€œAny other tribes around here? Anybody who lived here before the Abenaki?”
    Smith shook his head. “Don’t know of any tribe could claim that. The Abenaki arrived here when the glaciers receded, around eight thousand or so years ago, and the books all say they was the first humans here. What’s this about Indians, anyhow?”
    I shook my head. “Not important.” The story didn’t bear telling, because it sounded too damn odd in my head as I thought it over. I was beginning to wonder exactly who or what I’d seen sitting on that rock. No coat, yet she didn’t seem cold. No tracks leading there or away. I glanced at the bread on the counter, wondering if it was moldy. Ergot, a grain mold, can produce lysergic acid, the LS of LSD. The woman had been evanescent enough to be a hallucination. Maybe, I thought, stretching the point, I should be buying bread with some nice, healthy preservatives in it.
    â€œCome on,” Smith demanded, leaning forward. “What are you saying? The guy took a shot at me was an Indian, is that it?”
    â€œI have no idea who shot at you,” I said, “except that his boots are about a size larger than mine, which is a size ten. So he probably is either wider or taller than me, or maybe both.”
    â€œAnd you’re about six foot and, what, one-eighty?”
    â€œClose enough.”
    Smith shook his head, wincing a little, and I guessed his ear was hurting him more than he let on. “Wasn’t no Indian, I can tell you that.” He took a huge swallow of the wine.
    â€œYou an expert on them?” I said.
    He stared at me for a moment, as if I’d just insulted him and he was trying to figure out whether to throw his glass at me or walk out. I held his eyes for five seconds, and then looked down at the